"We must confess all to my mother," he said at last.
Olga turned deadly pale; her limbs gave way beneath her.
"Don't be frightened, don't be frightened,"—Vasíly kept repeating:—"rely on me; I will not forsake thee ... I will arrange everything ... trust in me."
The poor woman gazed at him with love ... yes, with love, and with profound, though hopeless devotion.
"I will arrange everything, everything,"—said Vasíly to her at parting ... and for the last time kissed her ice-cold hands.
Olga Ivánovna had just risen from her bed on the following morning, when her door opened ... and Anna Pávlovna made her appearance on the threshold. She was supported by Vasíly. Silently she made her way to an arm-chair, and silently seated herself. Vasíly stood beside her. He seemed composed; his brows were contracted, and his lips were slightly parted. Anna Pávlovna, pale, indignant, wrathful, tried to speak, but her voice failed her. Olga Ivánovna with terror, took in, in a single glance, her benefactress and her lover; she felt a frightful sinking at the heart ... with a shriek she fell down on her knees in the middle of the room and covered her face with her hands....
"So it is true ... it is true?" whispered Anna Pávlovna, and bent toward her.... "Answer!"—she went on harshly, seizing Olga by the arm.
"Mamma!" rang out Vasíly's brazen voice,—"you promised me not to insult her."
"I won't ... come, confess .... confess ... is it true? Is it true?"